


Stranded

by mistr3ssquickly



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Original Trilogy
Genre: Happy May the 4th, M/M, but the guys had fun so, there is seriously no plot happening here
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-04
Updated: 2017-05-04
Packaged: 2018-10-28 00:03:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,689
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10819530
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mistr3ssquickly/pseuds/mistr3ssquickly
Summary: Spending time with the Rebellion isn’t all that different from Han's childhood camping trips, leaving him with nothing better to do than lie back in his standard-issue sleeping bag, his belly full of standard-issue rations, staring up at the stars instead of flying among them thanks to the untimely and irreparable demise of the standard-issue Y-wing he’d been flying for reasons that made a helluva lot more sense to himbeforethe Y-wing stopped working and grounded him on an undeveloped and wholly uninspiring little planet on the Outer Rim.At least he's got Luke to help him pass the time.





	Stranded

Han always hated camping when he was a kid. The tinned rations, the uncomfortable sleeping arrangements, the insects that had an insatiable appetite for Corellian blood. The utter _tease_ of lying on the ground, staring the stars instead of sneaking into the nearest spaceport to bypass whatever locks he could on the ships docked there so he could have a look at the different technologies used to leap to those stars and the worlds tucked in among them.

Spending time with the Rebellion isn’t all that different from those childhood camping trips, he muses, nothing better to do than lie back in his standard-issue sleeping bag, his belly full of standard-issue rations, staring up at the stars instead of flying among them thanks to the untimely and irreparable demise of the standard-issue Y-wing he’d been flying for reasons that made a helluva lot more sense to him _before_ the Y-wing stopped working and grounded him on an undeveloped and wholly uninspiring little planet on the Outer Rim. The food, the bunks, the pests -- and now being grounded, waiting for Chewie to come save him in the _Falcon_ \-- all very similar. And somehow even less appealing than they were when he was ten.

“You’ll give yourself a headache grinding your teeth like that,” Luke comments, his voice drawing Han from his grumpy ruminations, body folded into the pose he’s been favoring during his meditations lately, which has his legs folded up on themselves in a way that makes Han’s knees hurt just to _look_ at. His eyes are closed and Han’s fairly certain he hasn’t been grinding his teeth audibly, but asking how Luke knows anything he shouldn’t know usually ends in an argument about the existence (or non-existence, in Han’s opinion) of the Force, and Han’s frankly disinterested in putting forth the effort it’ll take to poke holes in Luke’s religious beliefs, so he lets it go.

“Gonna get a headache from sleepin’ in a bag like a damn rations packet, more likely,” he says instead, pointedly shifting around in his sleeping bag, the synthetic fibers whispering against the fabric of his clothes. “If we sleep at all.”

Luke opens his eyes, looking slowly down the length of Han’s sleeping bag, then back up to meet his gaze. “We’ve slept through worse,” he says.

“Yeah? When.”

“The pods on Wintoo VII come to mind,” Luke says. “Our hideout in the basement of that pub on Mbalia. And --” He looks down the length of Han’s body once again, licking his lips when he gets back up to Han’s face “-- my bunk on Yavin IV. You said it kept you up all night.”

His mouth’s curved in the subtle prelude to a wicked grin, the shared memory of the night they spent together in that bunk on Yavin IV warm between them, stirring the beginning threads of arousal around the annoyance Han had been nursing, his heart beating faster when Luke unfolds himself from his meditative pose and comes over close enough to push their mouths together in a fully inelegant kiss that turns dirty even before Han’s had the chance to do more than thread his fingers through Luke’s hair, keeping him close. Luke bites him on the lip and fumbles with the zip on the edge of the sleeping bag, focusing more on fondling Han’s erection once he’s got his hand down Han’s trousers than he is on kissing, but that’s no hardship, nothing Han can’t handle, perfectly happy to take control of the kiss while Luke works him through his underwear, making the most delightful noises at the back of his throat as he does, as eager and hungry as Han’s ever seen him, even after a battle. Rough, too, pulling at Han’s cock like he’s trying to get it closer to him or something, shifting his hips as he does, his eyes dark and wild when he pulls away from the kiss, his mouth swollen and wet.

“Get up on me if you’re gonna be like that,” Han says, pushing his sleeping bag open all the way and shoving his trousers down to mid-thigh, his cock pushing hard at the front of his underwear, twitching a little when Luke looks down at it, tracing the contour of it with the tip of his finger. “Can’t just get a man hard and leave him that way. ‘S bad manners.”

Luke has the audacity to _roll his eyes_ over that, but he climbs over to straddle Han’s lap as he does, moving like he’s just as eager for the friction as Han is, probably moreso if the flush on his cheeks is any indication, the rapid beat of his pulse visible at his throat. He presses the hard line his cock against Han’s straight away and rocks his hips, thrusting like he’s not entirely sure he’s going to get what he wants, clothed as he is, and shifts his weight when he doesn’t, but he’s always been a natural at making Han feel good when they mess around, always quick to figure out the fastest way to pleasure both of them, and this is no exception, his left hand strong and warm as he reaches down palm Han’s erection through his briefs, giving himself a counterpoint to thrust against, rutting _hard_ once he’s sure he’s got them lined up just right, the friction rough and maddening, better than Han would have expected it to be.

“Ah, fuck,” Han breathes, pushing up against Luke’s weight across his hips, the friction and the feeling of being pinned, powerless, turning him on harder than he’d’ve thought it would, “stars, kid, that’s -- _fuck.”_

He gets a broken moan and a wet, breathless kiss in answer, Luke rubbing against him without any sort of rhythm or grace, his eyes slipping closed as a shudder passes through his frame, his cheeks flushed and throat working, the flush on his face spreading down his chest where his coveralls are unbuttoned, his body warm where he’s touching Han, welcome in the chill of their hideout. He stops moving just as the friction’s starting to detract from the sheer carnal _thrill_ of his touch, his hand slick against Han’s side as he levers himself up and tugs at Han’s underwear, yanking them down just far enough to bare Han’s cock to the air.

Shucking off his own clothes proves a greater challenge for him and earns Han a front-row seat to enjoy the sight of the great last of the Jedi turned on to the point of frustration, trying to balance and undress without just standing up and pushing his coveralls and briefs down his legs, managing finally to get them fully removed from his left leg, leaving them bunched up around his right thigh as he settles in Han’s lap once again, the feel of his bare cock against Han’s enough to make Han swear and jerk, reaching down to grab Luke’s thighs.

“C’mon,” he growls when Luke leans over him, flushed and aroused and irresistible for it, his nipples peaked through his undershirt, the muscles of his arms tight, showing off his strength. Clearly as desperate for gratification as Han is, if not moreso. “Do it. Make a mess’a me. Wanna feel you do it.”

Luke _groans_ and thrusts against him, his rhythm faltering as he gets his hand wrapped around them just right once again, their mingled precum slicking them, making it difficult for him to keep his grip. He leans back and wraps his other hand around them as well, squeezing and stroking in maddening counterpoint to the thrust of his hips, the friction just shy of enough, slowly drawing Han to the edge of orgasm and leaving him there, gasping with the need to come. He pushes against Luke’s weight, trying to thrust, to fuck Luke’s amazing hands, rut himself against Luke’s hard, slick cock, but Luke cries out and pushes back against him, pinning him, more demanding and aggressive than he usually is when they fuck, a change Han finds he likes, and likes quite a _lot,_ fully at Luke’s mercy for the trembling, desperate seconds before the younger man throws his head back and climaxes, biting off a shout of pleasure that Han can _feel_ reverberating in his soul, his cock aching with it as Luke comes on him, warm semen splattering his chest and belly, slicking Luke’s hands where he’s gripping fretfully at their cocks, jerking with the aftershocks as he comes down from his peak.

“You -- you felt really good,” he breathes, thrusting weakly a few times more, his cock impossibly hard still, the tip murky, wet. “Can I --?”

Han feels the hoarse laughter pull itself up his throat, his mind refusing to work properly in the deep red haze of _wanting_ that suffuses every sensation. “Yeah,” he says, swallowing hard at the sight of Luke moving gracelessly off of him, looking at his cock with a hunger that Han’s just the biggest fan of, really. “Do whatever you want with me.”

Luke stops staring at his cock long enough to look up to meet his gaze, lust bright still in his beautiful blue eyes, and once he’s sure he’s got Han’s full attention, lifts his hand to his mouth to _lick,_ lapping up the streaks of his own semen between his fingers, making hungry little sounds as he does, as if it’s the best thing he’s ever tasted. “All right,” he says, calm as anything, as if he’s not just made Han’s brain short-circuit, little more than a weak cry of Luke’s name making it past Han’s lips as Luke leans down and licks him next, sucking him just lightly until he’s gotten the full length of his cock cleaned. He wraps his hand around the root and pulls Han in deep just as Han is seriously considering begging him to stop teasing, the sudden pressure and friction a goddamn blessing that bleeds through Han’s system like a drug.

He’s pinned still under Luke’s weight draped across his hips, can’t thrust up into Luke’s mouth like he’d like to, but Luke’s natural skill with his mouth and the tight, almost desperate grip of his hand around the base of Han’s cock are more than enough to bring Han right back to the edge of orgasm in a matter of minutes without Han’s participation or input, has him reaching down to stroke his fingers through Luke’s hair, breathing hard through the pleasure seconds after that. He doesn’t fight the crest of pleasure when he feels it building, more than happy push himself up on his elbows and _watch,_ bleary and breathless, as Luke’s head bobs in his lap the precious few times it takes for him to come in Luke’s mouth, the sight and feel of Luke goddamn Skywalker sucking the come from him, swallowing hard around the length of his cock, almost as mind-blowing as his orgasm itself, his body shaking as he hits his peak, the electricity of it tearing through him, leaving him gasping.

“God _damn,”_ he breathes, watching Luke suck gently at his tip, wringing a few aftershocks through him. “Love it when you do that.”

“Do what?” Luke says, all false innocence and sweetness Han hasn’t fallen for in well over a year. He snorts and reaches for the younger man, pulling him down for a messy, aimless kiss.

“When you suck my cock,” he says against Luke’s mouth, just because he knows talking dirty’ll get Luke to blush, still, despite all the stuff they’ve done together in bed. “Mouth like yours, you could make quite a name for yourself in the sexholo circuit. If you ever get sick’a fightin’ and runnin’ and being tired and hungry all the time, anyway.”

Luke sighs through his nose and pushes himself up, this time standing to argue with his clothes, his hands maybe shaking a little as he fastens his coveralls. “I wouldn’t want that,” he says. “The Rebellion needs me still, I think. I hope.” He fixes Han with a look that silences Han’s weary sigh of _don’t be so serious about stuff,_ affection warm in his gaze. “Besides, I’m not really interested in doing that with anyone but you.”

He says it with all of his usual genuine sincerity, no hint of embarrassment or awkwardness in his expression over saying something like that out loud to a man lying half-undressed beneath him, streaked with his semen and groping helplessly for a response, the fuzz of the afterglow and surge of warmth in Han’s chest doing him no favors in coming up with an answer to what probably counts as the closest he’s gotten to a declaration of love from Luke.

“Ain’t all that interested in seein’ you do that with anyone but me,” Han manages, finally. “I was just sayin’.”

“Right,” Luke says. He steps over Han, pulling his own sleeping bag out of its case and arranging it at Han’s side, climbing in and moving around like he thinks he can find a comfortable position for sleeping while Han pushes himself up to rifle through his bag for something he can use to clean himself up, putting his clothes back to rights before settling into his own sleeping bag. “Thank you. I think.”

“For -- what, sayin’ you’d make a decent porn star?” Han says, the words jumbled by the laughter that comes up his throat at the ridiculousness of the notion. “You’re welcome, I guess.”

Luke gives him a look that makes him feel like he’s missed something, like Luke’s judging his intelligence. His pride keeps him from asking, but only barely.

“Goodnight, Han,” Luke says, rolling onto his side, presenting Han with his back. Han frowns at him, then rolls onto his side as well, scooting himself close enough to be in contact with Luke, curled around him. The ground’s still too damn hard and he’s still sleeping in a bag, doesn’t like camping out any more than he did two decades earlier, but he’s happy enough for the few hours it’ll be yet before Chewie can pick them up, he decides, slipping one arm out of his sleeping bag to drape over Luke’s side. He keeps his eyes open, knows from at least a decade of experience that falling asleep isn’t a good plan, probably isn’t even possible for him, but there’s no point in not resting his body, at least, putting on a show of sleeping that might lull Luke into getting some much-needed rest, have him rested and ready to take on the worlds of the galaxy as he seems so determined to do.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

_ A few points of interest: _

I was absolutely 100% not going to write something for May the 4th this year because I am a Serious Author working on a Serious Novel and I Don’t Have Time for Things Like Fanfiction.

And then I wrote this piece of shit and it doesn’t even have a _plot,_ it’s just mindless smut between my two favorite idiots. Oops.

I mean, hell, I didn’t even manage to work this sticky nonsense into the next chapter of the Vader-comes-back-to-the-light arc I’m totally not working on, don’t look at me like that, because it didn’t fit tonally with the tone of said next chapter that _I have totally been good about ignoring for a week because I am a Serious Author working on a Serious Novel._

::soft sobbing::

Oh well. Happy _Star Wars_ day, my friends. I hope you’ve enjoyed this little fic. I certainly did (though damned if I’m going to admit it). I’m off now to make the glaze for the two rhyshcates I’ve made in honor of the day, then pack up my second-favorite _Star Wars_ skirt, Rebel Alliance earrings, R2D2 vest, and _Star Wars_ headband and go to work _where I am a goddamn respected professional somehow, what is my life_ and feed rhyshcate to anyone who isn’t mean about my outfit. Or my love of _Star Wars._ Or anything, really, can everyone just chill out and be excellent today? And tomorrow? And for all the days to come, please?

No?

Force-lightning it is, then. I tried.


End file.
